


Please Do Not Disturb

by JadedCoral



Category: Being Human (UK), The Almighty Johnsons
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Cussing, Fluff, Humor, Idiots in Love, M/M, Oral Sex, Sexy Times
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-02
Updated: 2013-12-14
Packaged: 2017-12-31 06:36:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1028404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JadedCoral/pseuds/JadedCoral
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Random happenings in the lives of Anders and Mitchell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I’ve always wanted to write those challenges where you’re given words and have to write short stories based on them. As it turned out, though, I’m a bit of a wanker and thus have no friends to give me words for the challenge. BUT! What I DO have is this awesome Please Do Not Disturb sign I absolutely did not steal from this most amazing hotel in Germany (srsly, they had yaoi in the lobby and shower gel that said, “wash your body with this, your whole body, even your willy though with only two strokes because more than that is wanking and you’ll go blind.” I tested it. It was all true.)
> 
> And this is what it said:
> 
>   
> I/WE ARE:  
> Snoozing / Talking / Moonwalking / Debating / Shagging / Dreaming / Saying “fuck you” / Reading / Exfoliating / Dying young / Singing / Writing poetry / Wanking / Puking / Playing cards / Filming / Procrastinating / Pissing on the carpets / Eating burgers / Chilling / Jumping ship / Surfing space-time / Thinking it over / Hiding out from the cops / Just plain anti-social
> 
>  
> 
> **Please do not disturb**  
> 
> 
>  
> 
> So I took the words from out of that, and perhaps went a bit overboard with the stories. I hope you enjoy them despite that. :D
> 
> (I'll be posting them 5 at a time because I've currently written over 11k words and that's just ridiculous.)

* * *

 

- **Snoozing** -

 

The snooze button was not something Anders had ever understood the existence of. He loved to sleep and hated to wake up, so why on earth would he not only shorten the time of actual sleep only to have to wake up several times during the morning?

Mitchell, though, seemed to find some charm in pressing the button that would have the alarm ringing again after 15 minutes, doing so the minimum of three times during working days.

_Once to reach out and hug Anders close if they had drifted too far apart during the night._

_Twice to mumble sleepy, incoherent things with a dry throat and a rough voice._

_Thrice to properly kiss him awake._

Anders wanted to hate him for it, and quite grumpily threatened to do so, but how could he when Mitchell smiled sleepily and said things like, “But I like idling in bed with you while being at least half conscious about it.”

And, “It gives me time to appreciate how I get to wake up to this face,” while squishing Anders’ cheeks between his hands, grinning.

And, “I think it’s the best way to start the day, don’t you?”

No, Anders did _not_ agree, no matter how much his flushed cheeks made Mitchell smile and hug Anders closer to him to wait for another 15 minutes for the alarm clock to ring again, eventually forcing them out of the warm cocoon in which they were comfortably draped. Unless, of course, Mitchell decided to press the damn button ‘ _just one more time_.’

_Four times to take care of their morning woods._

* * *

 

- **Talking** -

 

“Hey Mitchell, about the holiday you wanted me to take you to.”

“Yeah?”

“How’d _Transylvania_ sound?”

“Your sense of humour is _killing_ me, Anders.”

“So you’d prefer the morgue is what you’re saying?”

“I’m saying the Middle-Earth would probably be the best destination for a dwarf like you.”

“Oi, if you weren’t so tall I’d punch you in the face for that! Here I was only trying to be considerate.”

“ _Considerate_ , of course. It’s not like you’d ever ignore the content of your sentences in favour of just listening to your own voice.”

“There’s nothing wrong with loving your own voice, is there?”

“Yet you prefer to shut up and fuck away like there’s no tomorrow.”

“Well I _do_ love fucking you more than I love listening to my own voice. Though I’m confident I could make you come with my voice alone.”

“Are you now?”

“Positive.”

“All right then. Commence.”

 

* * *

 

- **Moonwalking** -

 

“You’ve met Michael Jackson?” Anders asked doubtfully, leaning back on the couch after having successfully reached out for some chips from the living room table.

“Yeah!” Mitchell confirmed with a grin too adorable to bear watching, shrugging like it was no big deal though it obviously was. Like, being cast on Casablanca big deal. Which was exactly why Anders found himself so doubtful.

“And when you say you’ve _met_ him you mean..?”

“He was performing in Wembley Stadium during the 80’s and a bunch of us were made to attend to it because there was this one political figure we were supposed to… well, you needn’t know about _that_.”

“I’m sure I don’t,” said Anders dryly even though it was a loud reminder of Mitchell’s more than a little shady past.

“Anyway, I got to go behind the stage and watch the show from there! I got as close as 10 metres at one point, can you believe it? He was so charismatic!” Mitchell gushed, babbling on and on. “After the show he even tried to teach me how to moonwalk! Well, I say him, but it was more this guy I met at a bar after the show who was friends with the choreographer and who was a great enough guy to teach my drunken ass.”

Having not the heart to ask ‘ _so you didn’t really meet him at all, did you_ ,’ Anders bit his lip instead to keep himself from laughing.

“So you can moonwalk, then?” he asked, taking a sip of his beer. “Care to show me?”

Beaming, Mitchell nodded enthusiastically.

As it turned out, it was utterly ridiculous.

 

* * *

 

- **Debating** -

 

“I think-“ Mitchell tried to say but had to stop in favour of swallowing thickly when Anders licked his way from the junction of his neck all the way up to his ear while his fingers sneaked their way into Mitchell’s pants to grab a handful of his ass. “I think, haa, I would like to bottom tonight.”

“No,” was Anders’ immediate –if a bit breathless- reply, along with a hard grind against Mitchell’s pelvis.

“And why not?” Mitchell tried to glare but found it difficult when Anders was busy sucking bruises onto his neck. Instead he leaned back to lie on the bed, taking his lover with him. “I topped yesterday. _Twice_. It’s my turn. I’ve _earned_ it!”

“Yes, you topped. _Twice_. And I’ve still got an itch. Now what does that say about you as a boyfriend?”

Anders tried to roll them over so that Mitchell would be lying on him, but the other refused to budge, only spreading out his legs and looking at him through his lashes. “That’s hardly fair,” Mitchell pouted. “I could fuck you a week straight and you’d still be begging for more. But I’ve got needs too you know!”

“Needs that I’ll be sure to take care of when I don’t need your cock inside me so badly,” Anders moaned, shifting to straddle Mitchell’s hips so that he could feel the hard bulge in his lover’s pants rubbing against his ass. “ _Fuck_ , I want to ride you hard.”

“Not as bad as I, ngh, want you to b-bend me in half and –ah!- fuck me into the mattress, y-you dick,” Mitchell tried to argue while being rocked onto hard. The friction was almost enough to make him come in his pants, and secretly he hoped Anders would just continue with what he was doing and push him over the edge because he sure as hell couldn’t fuck the god with a soft cock.

Suddenly Anders’ fingers were shoved through his parted lips and into his panting mouth and Mitchell moaned around them, licking and sucking them like if he’d do a good enough job, then maybe he’d be rewarded by the digits being replaced by something much thicker. The thought of Anders’ precum smeared over his tongue was enough to make his mouth water, quickening his job, and when Anders pulled his fingers out, Mitchell had already closed his eyes in blissful anticipation while his legs kept spreading out more than they already had been to begin with.

He could feel Anders dragging the wet fingers down his bare chest, stopping to play with a dusky nipple before continuing on down, down. With a shift of his hips Anders lifted himself up a bit, robbing Mitchell both of the sweet pressure of the god’s ass on his groin as well as the sensation of the fingers leaving a tell-tale path down his body.

Shifting his hips a bit impatiently, he waited for his pants to be dragged down enough to provide Anders access to his ass and enable him to slip his fingers inside him to stretch him open. Mitchell’s lack of patience got him no such thing, though, as he could feel and hear nothing but Anders moaning breathily above him.

“Anders Johnson!” Mitchell almost yelled, opening his eyes only to have his worst fears confirmed. “Get your fingers out of your arse!”

“Why?” the other had the cheek to ask while looking perfectly aware of what an unfair bastard he was being. “I don’t feel like going particularly rough today, so I need to prepare myself because you seem unwilling to do it.”

“That’s because _I_ want to be prepared for _your_ cock,” said Mitchell overly frustrated as he grabbed Anders’ wrist and tugged at it until the god relented and pulled his fingers out of himself.

“And I said you ain’t going to get any tonight!” Anders huffed, this time successfully rolling them over and switching their positions on the bed while Mitchell was being distracted.

“What, is my ass not good enough for you?” Mitchell accused while trying to fight his way back to bottom.

“Your ass is plenty good, my dear, I’d just prefer your other _assets_ right now.”

“That is not a valid argument, that’s just you being selfish!”

“I don’t understand your need to argue in the first place when you could be doing _this_ instead.” And by _this_ Anders seemed to mean the body he was gesturing at with his hands. Which happened to be his own.

“Just gimme the D, Anders!” Mitchell growled.

“No!”

So they ended up wrestling for a while, each trying to get the other on top of them, unwilling to yield to the other’s urges. Insults of impressive variety kept being thrown back and forth and despite their increasing annoyance towards each other, they still found themselves lying on the same bed –albeit on different sides of it, casting nasty glares at the other- panting after the exercise and rock hard from all the sweaty, physical contact that had occurred.

 

* * *

 

- **Shagging** -

 

“I am not happy about this,” Mitchell panted as he kept ramming into Anders from behind, having to keep the other’s hips up when everything of Anders’ seemed ready to melt against the mattress as he kept moaning happily into a pillow.

“S-shut up, mmh, ‘s good.” Pawing the sheets underneath him like a content cat, Anders tightened his muscles around Mitchell to show exactly how good it all felt.

“I wouldn’t know,” Mitchell kept complaining, throwing his head back with a small, hissed out ‘ _shit’_ when fucking Anders was starting to feel a bit _too_ good. Of course it was good, it _always_ was, but that was beside the point! “It’s been such a long time since I last got a good pounding that I must’ve forgotten what it’s like.”

Laughing breathily, Anders said, “It’s been three days, dipshit.”

“Three long days,” lamented Mitchell while lifting the god up from the bed to sit on his lap instead, chest to back and a pleased mewl from Anders when his head got tilted back so that he could receive one, two, three long kisses.

“Quit c-complaining,” he tried to grin out smugly, though he was soaked too deep in pleasure to be really in control of his expressions, especially when Mitchell started to slowly grind inside him and ran his cool hands all over heated skin.

“Quit being selfish.” Letting his hand slide down between Anders’ legs, the vampire bypassed his erection, going further down instead where they were connected, running two fingers along the seam of the stretched ring muscle with added pressure to tease the sensitive nerve endings some more.

It rattled Anders’ spine and set a burning down his lower abdomen, Mitchell not helping to descend the unbearable pleasure at all when he pressed their lips against each other’s and slipped his tongue through Anders’ parted lips to claim his mouth as well.

Before Mitchell, Anders had no idea his body could be played like this, and now that he had gotten a taste of it, he just couldn’t get enough, thinking only that if this was what madness felt like, then he’d gladly fall into it.

“I’m not selfish,” Anders tried to argue with a shudder plagued breath when Mitchell’s assault relented enough to allow him his thoughts back. “I just know what I want and go out of my way to get it.”

“You’re insufferable.” Mitchell muttered against his shoulder, leaving behind kisses with hints of a smile in them.

“And you spoil me.” Anders laughed, bending his hand to run his fingers through his lover’s hair in a show of affection and appreciation and utter adoration and a bit of ‘ _that’s a good boy._ ’

“I know I do.” Mitchell agreed and fucked up into him to have Anders come screaming.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dreaming / Saying “fuck you” / Reading / Exfoliating / Dying young

* * *

 

- **Dreaming** -

 

A smiling family of four looked at the camera from behind their white picket fence, huddled close together on their perfectly kept garden where their golden retriever could run around with its tail wagging. The title above them said something about home decoration in deep blue font.

Sighing, Mitchell picked up the magazine, leaning heavily onto his arm as he reluctantly started to leaf through it.

He much preferred magazines that gave him free perfume samples he could use to cover up the fact that sometimes he just forgot to take a shower, to those which liked to tell him how he should be living his life.

Still, Anders was running late, and with nothing else to do other than to sip his tea, Mitchell went on ahead to read the magazine the café was kind enough to provide for its customers’ amusement.  

It seemed to be filled with rooms painted hospital white, leather couches on which no one was allowed to sit lest they spoiled them and expensive statement pieces that were only good for collecting dust in the corner of one’s living room. A hundred years ago, Mitchell thought, he might have dreamt of having all that.

A hundred years ago, when bombs kept raining from the sky and the sight of blood pouring from mutilated corpses still made him nauseous, on late evenings with delusions of beautiful sunsets his third night of no sleep gave him, he might have dreamt of having his own Galway girl keeping a house on the green hills of Ireland, waiting and smiling and unconditionally loving him, even giving him a child in whose future he’d have found a reason to fight for.

They’d have painted the rooms of their house white after Mitchell returned from the war a hero, his mother looking proudly with her belly full of potatoes and lamb –never starving, not again- as she’d have helped them decide where to place the old, worn leather couch.

And they’d have had a dog, a dim mutt who’d come inside with its paws muddy, but that would have been all right, because to Mitchell a little messy house was a well-loved _home_.

“John?” someone asked from beside him, alerting him to the shade of reality, which seemed to be all wrong. Mitchell blinked again, awkwardly realising he had been staring at decorative bowls featured in the magazine with his ink black eyes.

“We can get you one if you want them so badly,” the someone continued, both amusement and worry in his voice when he kept talking. “Just. Stop doing that in here, all right?”

It’s Anders, of course it was, but Mitchell still blinked a bit confused at his sudden appearance. “When’d you get here?”

“Man, were you _miles_ away,” the other rolled his eyes, taking a seat and having a sip of his coffee. It was in a take-away cup with its lid firmly on to hide whatever it contained, which made Mitchell suspect that Anders had ordered something extra sweet with lots of cream and helpings of caramel on top which used to make him tease the god with an asking of, ‘ _do you like it because you’re so_ sweet _yourself_?’ but had to stop after Anders had shot back a, ‘ _is that why you drink your tea so bitter, then?_ ’.

“What were you dreaming of?” Anders asked him while cradling his drink between his hands to warm them up a bit, looking genuinely curious.

Pausing, Mitchell thought of white picket fences, of wives and children and dogs, then looking back at Anders because that’s what he had ended up with: dead on the other side of the world, living in a decent apartment with an incarnated Norse God with the tendency to yell at him when Mitchell’s messy habits went from tolerable to ‘ _clean up your shit!_ ’

And _fishes_. They had fishes instead of a dog.

It all made a horribly wide smile grow on his face and he leaned close enough to Anders that he could speak against his lips, “Of irrelevant things,” while Anders hummed a, “Mmhmm,” in return as if that much was obvious, his tongue tasting of caramel when he licked his way inside Mitchell’s smile.

 

* * *

 

- **Saying “fuck you”** -

 

“ _Fuck_ you!”

Ty halted, head snapping towards the direction of Anders’ office where his brother was apparently yelling into his phone. Questioningly he looked at Dawn who only shrugged, looking as worried as she did eager to have the cupcake Ty had been about to give her before the interruption.

“What do you mean fuck _me_ , you fucker!?”

Again Ty couldn’t help but look at the closed door, never having heard Anders being in such a mood. Usually he just used Bragi to have things go his way or just walked out of the picture when Mike was getting onto his nerves. Dawn continued to tap away on her laptop.

“ _I’m_ not the unsanitary bastard who left their fucking drink rotting in the fucking kitchen!”

“He’s not talking to Mitchell, is he?” he dared to ask Dawn who just gave him a look of ‘ _what do you think?_ ’

The mention of any rotting drink _Mitchell_ could leave behind brought nothing but the worst into his mind, especially when it still took him such an enormous effort not to ask if the vampire preferred his meat raw and bloody whenever they held a barbeque party Johnson style. What complete _nightmares_ those were…

“Don’t say that! I tolerate a lot of your shit but the reek of that mess was fucking _disgusting_!”

Anders and his unexpected boyfriend had never gone into much detail about Mitchell’s past, but had been courteous enough to mention that he was, ‘ _a bit of a vampire so don’t go giving him a reason to bite you, ‘kay?_ ’

Which was why Ty found his heart hammering in anxiety the more he eavesdropped on his brother’s conversation, the picture that kept building in his mind crystal clear and frightening as hell.

“You know what? Go fuck yourself, John Mitchell.”

Apparently the phone call had ended and a little bit of rummaging could be heard from Anders’ office before he slammed the door open looking like he had about had enough for the day.

“Ty!” the blond said with manic cheerfulness, loosening his tie and taking brisk steps towards his brother who felt a bit wary. “ _You_ understand how refrigerators work and what they are there for, right?”

Ty could only give a small, dumb nod.

“ _And_ you bring me cupcakes!” Not bothering to ask if he could have it, Anders just took the cupcake Ty had been about to give to Dawn, stuffing it into his mouth without further ceremony. “Mm, coconut-lime. Someday I’ll marry you, little brother, mark my words.”

Leaning in to give his brother a big, wet kiss on his cheek, Anders spun on his feet and walked out, the door banging shut behind him a bit more loudly than was necessary. Ty stared after the blond with his mouth open.

“Milk,” Dawn said while not looking up from her work.

“What?” Ty asked, helplessly confused.

“A carton of milk left on the kitchen counter. Anders hates that,” she elaborated.

“Ah.” Scratching at the back of his neck, Ty tried to comprehend how he was supposed to process after what had just occurred, coming out with nothing and so instead turning to look at Dawn again with a shy smile on his face, asking hopefully, "I have more cupcakes if you’d still like one?”

 

* * *

 

- **Reading** -

 

Anders didn’t usually let work follow him home, but the deadline of his current project was looming ahead and it was for a client he really didn’t want to lose because the money it’d bring him was too good, the project actually interesting and the daughter of his client easy to look at.

So he arranged the pile of papers he had taken to bed with him, reading them over in the light of his bedside lamp and correcting whatever he found in the need of it with a red ballpoint pen.

Mitchell, joining him in bed a while later, took a good look at him before slipping underneath the blankets.

“We reading tonight?” he asked amused.

“Yep,” was all Anders bothered to mutter while gnawing at the tip of his pen.

“Good. I’ve some catching up to do.” With that, Mitchell leaned over his side of the bed in his attempt to fish something from under his bedside table.

“You can _read_?” Anders snorted, finding the question relevant considering he’d never seen Mitchell with a book in his hand unless it was to push one from out his way so that they could make out on a table. Curious now, Anders took a break from his own papers to take a look of what Mitchell was into, his jaw dropping a bit when the other lifted a bit too thick of a book successfully onto his pillow. “Are you fucking _kidding_ me?”

“What?” Mitchell asked with a raised brow while opening the book from where he had left it the last time, putting his bookmark aside.

“You’ve been having an affair with comrade Dostoyevsky all this time?”

“More like _trying_ to,” Mitchell said, rolling his eyes. “Keeping you satisfied is like a full time job, after all.”

Work now forgotten, Anders put his papers away, rolling onto his side and sticking a warm foot between Mitchell’s calves. “Let’s have a threesome, then,” he grinned.

“You want to have a three-way with two corpses? Sometimes you worry me, Anders,” said Mitchell, receiving a kick.

“Read out loud to me,” the god demanded.

“You’re the verbally gifted one, though.”

“I don’t care. Just. C’mon.”

With a huff and a secret smile, Mitchell readjusted a bit to lie more comfortably on his belly, leaning against his hand as he began to tell stories about the Brothers Karamazov.

 

* * *

 

- **Exfoliating** -

 

At first Mitchell laughed at Anders for having fallen asleep in the sun and having burned his back lobster red. Afterwards he apologized by rubbing aloe gel soothingly all across the burned skin, because _gods_ did it look painful, especially if judged by the grimaces Anders couldn’t help whenever something touched his back a bit too roughly.

But then it got worse. _Much_ worse, and working at a hospital and hearing talk about the risks of getting a melanoma from being in the sun for too long a time did nothing to lessen his worries.

“Jesus _Christ_.” Wincing, Mitchell pinched the white bit of skin jutting out on Anders’ back and pulled, tearing a patch of it away.

Anders only sniggered, urging the other to continue by wiggling his shoulder blades.

“Is this _normal_?” Mitchell wondered, doing as the silent command went and skinning Anders some more, failing to find it as satisfying as the patient seemed to do.

“Have you never gotten a sunburn before?” the other asked with a cheeky grin.

“Before? As in when I was human?” Mitchell mused with a little bit of nostalgia in his voice. “I don’t think it’s geologically possible to get a sunburn in Ireland.”

“And nowadays you just turn into a pile of ash in the sun.” Chuckling while knowing it wasn’t at all true, Anders let go of his mirth only when Mitchell pinched him in retaliation.

“If you want to turn me to ash, then all you have to do it stake me.” the vampire mumbled moodily while occupying himself with trying to tear off as big patch a skin as he possibly could. It turned out pretty impressive. 

“But I don’t want to.” Anders said a bit more quietly now, looking at Mitchell from over his shoulder while accepting the piece of his own skin in the shape of Africa the other gifted him with.

“I’d never do that to you.” he quietly promised, suddenly very aware that the thought of Mitchell approaching him with a stake in his hand and asking him to end it all wasn’t an idea farfetched.

He could feel Mitchell lean his forehead against the nape of his neck before nodding, his breath alighting the burning on Anders back even though everything else about him was so wintry. And while silence took over their conversation, Anders tried his hardest to calm his beating heart so that Mitchell would not notice how deep under his skin he was starting to get. 

 

* * *

 

- **Dying young** -

 

“Are there any old fart vampires?” Anders asked Mitchell one evening as they watched something on TV he had zero interest in, thinking that watching his fishes swim in circles would be more entertaining. Still, he was feeling far too comfortable leaning against Mitchell to make an effort to move elsewhere, so he had to somehow entertain himself from where he sat.

His question got him a bit of a weird look, a disapproving sigh and finally an answer. “There are some who are over a thousand years old.”

“No, I meant if some have been turned when they were 90 years old or something. Or do you only recruit the young and beautiful? Are you really just a group of agists?” Frowning as if he was actually offended for the generation of elders, Anders was glad to see his efforts had Mitchell look away from the telly, no matter the slightly uncomfortable look on his face.

“Can we not talk about this?” He asked dejected, thinking that if the blond had any heart at all, then maybe he’d have enough tact to drop the subject upon seeing Mitchell’s distressed puppy eyes.

“No,” Anders deadpanned. “I want to know.”

“Because you’re _bored_?” Mitchell bit out accusingly, while it was becoming more and more obvious that Anders would not give up the talk he had begun, not even if he was aware how much of an arse he was being about it.

“Because I _care_ ,” Anders cooed mockingly, nudging Mitchell with his whole body. “So c’mon, care bear, tell me a little something.”

“Don’t you _ever_ ,” Mitchell began to say darkly, wrapping his arms around Anders and pulling him to sit on his lap so that he could better glare at him to make his point clear, “call me that again.”

“Ooh, touchy.” Grinning down at him, Anders shifted a bit to find a more comfortable position. “Did you have me sit on your lap to tell me how naughty I’ve been?”

Snorting, Mitchell finally played along, giving Anders’ bottom a half-assed slap while saying, “You’re forever the naughtiest.” 

“So it won’t hurt to pester you some more with questions you don’t want to answer?” Anders asked with a look similar to the cruelty of children, running his fingers through Mitchell’s hair and not allowing the other to move from underneath him when he tried. “Tell me, _John_ ,” he demanded with the voice of Bragi just for the heck of it.

Flattening against the couch cushions as if he was being cornered, Mitchell looked away when all he could really do was to accept his situation and maybe later use it as an argument as to why he was upset enough with the god to not let him get his way for once.

“It’s more about them being young than it is about them being beautiful,” he said, swallowing.

“Continue,” Anders prodded, crossing his arms against Mitchell’s chest and staring right at him to increase his discomfort so that he would say whatever Anders wanted to hear in order to be let out of the situation faster.

“It’s the _life_ in the blood that’s so goddamn addicting. That’s why it has got to be from a living body and not from a corpse or a bag of blood.”

“So it’s what’s on the inside that matters. How _romantic_.” Thinking that boredom must make a monster out of him while feeling nothing but entertained when Mitchell gave him yet another glare, Anders was unprepared –though hardly displeased- when Mitchell suddenly had him on his back on the sofa with a burst of his vampire strength.  

“It’s because young people have more to live for,” Mitchell said with a dark look. “The older they get the less life they have in their blood. It’s like drinking a warm Bulmers that has been watered down by the melted ice cubes, something you’ll only ever drink if you’re desperately in the need of it and have nothing else at hand.”

Anders thought that Mitchell was perhaps trying to be menacing, somehow, while staring down at him with this tight look on his face as if talking about watered down Irish cider was the worst thing to happen in his life. Finding no sympathy in him, Mitchell’s actions only made Anders tilt his chin to expose his neck for the viewing.

“Hearing this makes me a bit concerned,” Anders said, noting the way Mitchell’s eyes followed the movement of his Adam’s apple when he swallowed. “I think I’m starting to run out of time if I want to die young and beautiful.”

“I can’t believe you,” Mitchell muttered, burying his head in the crook of Anders’ neck and taking a few deep breaths that could have been to calm himself down, or just Mitchell teasing himself with the scent of a potential meal lying underneath him, willing, beautiful and absolutely _delicious_.

“I won’t change you,” he finally said while lifting his head up to look at Anders again. “Do you know why?”

But before Anders could answer anything witty, he found himself draped in a crushing hug, Mitchell rubbing his damn stubble against his throat and childishly singing out, “Because I _love_ you, Anders Johnson! I love- I love- I _love_ you!” because he knew Anders well enough to know that this was not a war to be won by being rational or appealing to emotions, but rather by exploiting the other’s weaknesses against them to the best of one’s ability.

And apparently Mitchell had got it right, because Anders was in vain trying to push away from him, laughing all the way to the floor where they accidentally fell during their flailing.

“Gah! I give, I give!” Anders managed to plead in the midst of his laughter, Mitchell finally relenting when he heard a familiar jingle coming from the TV.

“So.” Purring wickedly into Mitchell’s ear, Anders took the vampires collar into a strong grip as he nibbled at his lobe. “Am I going to receive a punishment for being so naughty?”

“Shush, can’t you see that the afternoon housewife drama is on? I need to know if Stephanie will tell Clarissa that Cornelius is actually her half a brother’s cousin’s niece’s aunt.”

Groaning, Anders hit his forehead against Mitchell’s collarbone a few times before getting up moodily and going to watch his fishes swim in circles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I really hope you liked them so far. Please feel free to comment. I'd like to hear which were your favourite and least favourite! :D


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Singing / Writing poetry / Wanking / Puking / Playing cards
> 
> Sorry it took me some time to update. I went on a wee little holiday. But now there's more! :D 

* * *

 

- **Singing** -

 

There was nothing Anders liked more than to join Mitchell in the shower on weekend mornings the other had a shift on. Because while Anders had no hurry, Mitchell sure did, especially if the god dropped onto his knees to worship Mitchell and make him sing hosanna.

“I- I really can’t be late- Anders!” Mitchell tried to reason with the other, but it was pretty hard when said other was busy swallowing around his cock, rabidly sucking out any sense of time or resolution he had left in him.

Besides, he had to put most of his capacity into trying to keep standing up against the tiled bathroom wall, when the watery floor was starting to feel too slippery beneath his shaking feet between which shower gel kept dripping down when Anders’ fingers kept teasing his ass with the idea that his lubed fingers _might_ push inside him but never actually quite did.

Letting the cock in his mouth to slip out so that he could speak, Anders said, “You don’t have to go to work, John,” while looking up at him with a saucy expression which made Mitchell think he was in much trouble. “I’ll take care of you,” he continued while taking really good care indeed to keep his strokes slow and intense.

“I’ll provide for you,” the blond droned on, his eyelids dropping to half-mast as if he was starting to believe that Mitchell would ever agree to that. “I’ll be so _good_ to you.”

As tempting as the idea of being Anders’ housewife sounded if compared to having to clean up piss and vomit on weekend mornings, Mitchell still wanted to keep his job rather than watch telly all day. So when Anders opened his mouth again to wrap his cunning little lips around his prick, the resonation of his moan around Mitchell’s throbbing flesh almost making the vampire blindly yield to the idea of him becoming the provided for, Mitchell knew he had to quickly come up with a way get out of the situation before it was too late.

Because he knew the bastard who currently had his face between his legs could draw this out for as long as he deemed necessary. Necessary meaning Mitchell turning up for work late – _again_ \- and receiving disapproving looks from his boss.

Desperate, he took in a deep breath.

And then began to sing from the top of his lungs.

“You are the dancing queen! Young and sweet only seventeen!”

Anders halted his ministrations, cock still in his mouth when he looked up at Mitchell with an utter look of, ‘ _what the actual fuck?_ ’

“Dancing queen! Feel the beat from the tambourine!”

The moment Anders pulled back enough to express just how completely the mood had been ruined, Mitchell grinned and quickly made his escape from the shower, drying and dressing himself as fast as he could before storming out of the house with his hair still damp.

And when Anders later sent him a text message saying, ‘ _The damn song’s been stuck in my head the whole day, you dick._ ’

Mitchell could only reply with a, ‘ _It’s what you well deserve, arsehole._ ’

 

 

* * *

 

- **Writing poetry** -

 

He found Anders sitting on their couch one Thursday evening, the blond writing absentmindedly into a black, leather covered moleskine while half paying attention to whatever was on telly. Mitchell wouldn’t have been interested at all in what the other was on about had the book not looked so ominous, as if every potential opportunity to blackmail had been noted within its covers.

What was even more suspicious, was the way Anders was quick to hide it between the couch cushions when he realised Mitchell had come home, trying to be so overly subtle about it that Mitchell had not the heart to express his curiosity and how he had definitely observed well where the book had been hidden.

“Welcome back, _sweetheart_ ,” Anders said so sickeningly sweet that Mitchell _knew_ he had been as caught in his intentions to stuff his nose into places it wasn’t wanted as Anders had been in hiding his dirty secrets.

“It’s good be home, _honey_ ,” Mitchell responded with an overly pleasant smile, approaching the couch and leaning down for a kiss which Anders was all too ready to give while wrapping his arms around the other’s neck.

“How was your day?” he asked with the same, disturbing voice, pulling Mitchell down flush against his body with no intention to let him go. When Mitchell tested the waters by slowly trying to inch his hand towards where the book had been hidden, Anders laced their fingers together and kissed his nose with an exaggerated smack of his lips.

Kissing the his man right back at the corner of his eye, Mitchell considered his options. He knew Anders trusted him enough to not use his supernatural strength against him, so that was out of the question. Mitchell also knew he had little chance of winning a verbal debate as to why it would be a good idea to let him leaf through the ominous black book Anders insisted on hiding from him.

So instead he looked at the other with big, worried eyes, asking, “Anders?” and swallowing thickly to make a good show. “No secrets between us, right?”

When it became obvious that his act of a puppy dog did not go through, Anders looking testily at him and growling out a, “John,” warningly, Mitchell tried something else and utterly unfair.

“I love you,” he said while pinning Anders to place with both gaze and body, forcing him to accept the fact. Mitchell knew he held the truth of it in his eyes, because that was what it was, the absolute truth, one which made Anders squirm and yield and all sorts of uncomfortable which Mitchell didn’t quite understand but kind of knew where it all came from.

And when Anders muttered a, “Stop it,” against the crook of his neck where he sometimes liked to hide from the world, Mitchell didn’t mean to be cruel and laugh, but did so anyway because, “I don’t think I’m capable of that.”

Anders fingers loosened their hold on his, and that was as much a permission as Mitchell was ever going to get, so he kissed the shell of Anders’ ear before reaching out to pull the book from between the couch cushions with a playful, “Yoink!”

 When Anders muttered something he didn’t quite catch and made an attempt to squirm away from him, Mitchell sat up properly on the couch, taking Anders with him by having him sit on his lap where he looked quite reluctant to stay.

Too curious to tease the god about how pouty he looked, Mitchell only shrugged before he opened the black book, expecting the worst but finding only bewilderment between its pages.

Page upon page it was filled with words he didn’t understand, some written in beautifully mathematical lines while others where a harsh mess of obvious frustration. He found letters of alphabet that he did not recognise and runes that held no meaning to him.

“What is all this?” Mitchell asked a bit amazed.

“The inside of my head,” Anders huffed, clearly annoyed. “Need to get it all out sometimes.”

“I’m not smart enough to understand any of it, but this is really amazing,” Mitchell marvelled some more.

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” Anders grunted, though accepted the kiss that Mitchell grinned against his lips with brightly shining eyes as he asked excitedly, “You don’t happen to know _Gaeilge_ by any chance?”

Anders only shrugged, saying, “I might?”

“Might?”

“I seem to know all sort of shit when lord Bragi can’t keep it to himself.” Anders confessed, hitting Mitchell to the shoulder with the flat of his hand when the other dared to look excited about it. “I hate writing poetry. I _hate_ getting high on words!” the god whined.

Considering this, a wicked smirk grew on Mitchell’s face, one that made Anders stiffen warily in his hold upon seeing it. And he felt it justified when he let the words slip through his lips in a low and steady tone, letting it all flow in a slow rhythm of, “While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping. As of some one, gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.”

Justified, because Anders often made fun of him for being a vampire, and sometimes his jabs hurt enough that maybe, maybe Mitchell kind of wanted to sometimes use the other’s godhood against him as well. Not that his words were hurting Anders, not at all.

They seemed to make him out of breath as he shivered on Mitchell’s lap and looked at him with dilated pupils when the words kept dripping from his mouth.

“’’Tis some visitor,’ I muttered, ‘tapping at my chamber door– only this,” Mitchell continued, cupping Anders’ cheek with his hand and kissing at the corner of his mouth before whispering out the rest of it against his ear, “’And nothing more.’”

He could hear Anders’ heart as it beat fast and loud in its cage, not knowing what to make of it because it wasn’t from arousal.

“Stop it,” Anders asked him quietly, still shivering. “Stop using this against me.”

“All right, all right. I’m sorry,” Mitchell agreed, letting his hand run up and down the other’s spine in a comforting gesture. “It was interesting, though.”

“To you, maybe,” the blond huffed, having calmed down a bit. “It was a really fucked up feeling I just got there.”

“Really?” Mitchell asked, eyebrows raised in question when Anders pulled away from him enough to be able to glare down at him.

“Really,” said the other, attempting to stand up and go gather the last of his lost wit back, but Mitchell halted him by taking a hold of his elbows, grinning a, “Just one more thing,” before running his hands up to take Anders’ face between them and pulling him down to share a breath.

“Is breá liom tú,” he whispered because he was feeling particularly cruel, easily catching Anders when his knees gave out from underneath him and relishing the helpless moan and all the shudders that escaped the blond.

 

 

* * *

 

- **Wanking** -

 

Recently Mitchell had been bored enough to follow Anders to his work, pampering him by bringing him unnecessary amounts of coffee, holding idle conversations with Dawn and unwittingly charming any female and slightly confused male customers who walked into the office only to be assaulted by his cheerful smile and pleasant features, finding themselves with no other option than to verify their deals with Anders with a higher price than had been previously agreed on.

“I should rent you out,” Anders commented while sipping his coffee even if he knew it would only subject him to another restless night.

When Mitchell only raised a lazy eyebrow at him from the sofa he was lounging on, Anders clarified, “You’d be a hit amongst the bored old housewives. I could make a fortune.”

“Please don’t pimp me out,” said Mitchell with all the worry of someone who couldn’t give a care.

“No, I’m serious,” the blond said with a grin which indicated how serious he wasn’t at all. Because it wasn’t like he had the means to force Mitchell to do anything he didn’t agree on. And maybe Anders didn’t really want to share to begin with. Not even with saucy old housewives.

“Stop wasting time thinking of things that are never going to happen and do your work so that we can go grab a couple of drinks.” Rolling his eyes, the brunet stretched on the sofa, his shirt riding up enough to show a flash of a pale Irish belly with a promising dark trail leading down to his pants.

Licking his lips, Anders found it hard to look elsewhere.

“You can’t just come here and boss me around,” he chided while trying to estimate exactly how fast he could get things done if he really put his mind into it. The pile of papers looming on his desk threatened to take at least two hours.

“I suppose not.” Agreeing, Mitchell scratched his belly before slowly, slowly moving his hand downwards, his grin widening the harder it seemed for Anders to keep looking at his desk instead of the man lying on the sofa in his office. “Maybe I’ll just have a wank instead.”

“No,” said Anders distressed. “If I don’t finish these in time Dawn will make sure I have no cock to wank with.”

Mitchell, the _devil_ , started to unzip his jeans despite it apparently being prohibited and looking like a smug bastard while doing it. “Who said anything about your prick, eh? Don’t you mind me. Just do whatever you have to do.”

“Dawn!” Anders yelled. “Dawn, Mitchell’s being a wanker!”

Laughing, Mitchell slipped his hand into his pants, letting out a theatrical moan as he palmed himself. “She left a while ago.”

“ _What_? Where to?” Finding it increasingly difficult to keep himself siting at his desk, Anders silently lamented on Dawn not being there when he truly needed her.

 “I don’t know,” Mitchell shrugged. “To feed her cat?”

Later on Anders would have to remind Dawn that working hours were not a time for feline feeding, especially if Mitchell happened to be in the office and there was work Anders needed to get done. But for now, the best he could do was to pick up the first paper from the pile and not mind the hitched breaths coming from the sofa.

Not even if his own name was being moaned out, obviously voiced to gain his attention which he refused to give because, _dammit_ , it was starting to feel like a challenge, and winning it would be more satisfying than bouncing on Mitchell’s cock right about now.

No matter how much the bulge in his pants failed to agree.

“Do you want to touch yourself?” Mitchell asked breathily, halting his hand only to be able to rub at the head of his cock, it having effects on him which Anders knew all too well. “You can, you know. If you know how to multitask, that is.”

Palming his crotch with his left hand while he used his right to sign a paper, Anders was delighted to find out that multitasking wasn’t as hard as he might have thought, though the more attention he gave to his erection the less he could really internalize to what he was agreeing on the papers.

“Just make sure not to cum all over Mr O’Gorman’s documents.” Mitchell reminded him.

“ _God_ was he good looking,” Anders moaned, forgetting the palming and going for full strokes.

“Can’t disagree.”

Somewhere poor Mr O’Gorman shivered while unknowingly taking part on a remote threesome, a few moments later receiving a text message from the quirky PR he had had a meeting a few days before, it reading, ‘ _Done with your papers. I’ll have Dawn arrange a time for another meeting soon._ ’

And when he sent back a thank you message, all he got back was a, ‘ _’t was my_ pleasure _, Mr O’Gorman._ ’

 

 

* * *

 

- **Puking** -

 

Anders heaved before the wave of vomit hit the toilet bowl he was kneeling in front of, clutching at the edges of it with his knuckles white. The taste filling his mouth made him cough, tears forming at the corners of his eyes as he lifted his head enough to breathe in air that didn’t stink as much.

“There, there,” Mitchell tried to comfort him, hand held flat against Anders’ back, rubbing at his spine in a soothing manner. They were both drunk, just having returned from the bar and Mitchell was still slightly giggly from the alcohol in his system even when he sat on the bathroom floor where Anders had barely made it in time.

“You want a glass of water?” he was asking and Anders nodded no matter how much it made his vision spin. Getting up a bit unsteadily, Mitchell went to get him some water, making haste in his return.

“Here.” Cradling the back of Anders’ head in his hand, Mitchell tilted his head a bit to help him drink some, the clear liquid a relief when it washed away the taste of bile in Anders’ mouth and soothed his sore throat. When it descended to his stomach, though, Anders felt sick all over again.

“It’s what you get for drinking,” Mitchell laughed, his soothing hand back as he tried to do whatever to make Anders feel better.

Anders tried not to hold Mitchell’s words against him. He didn’t know, _could_ not know, that Anders had not had nearly enough to drink to get himself into this state. It really didn’t take a genius to figure out that someone had spiced his drink back at the bar. He’d known it the moment his vision had blackened and it had become difficult to move his limbs or even to ask that Mitchell take them home right now.

It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know that this had happened either because someone hated him, or because they wanted to-

There was nothing but acids left in his stomach to vomit out.

He couldn’t let Mitchell know the truth, so he tried not to think of his words as if Mitchell had thought that Anders deserved, that _anyone_ would deserve this, being drugged and done with whatever some anonymity had wanted of them. He would have liked to think himself lucky that he’d been out with Mitchell, that Mitchell was here on the bathroom floor with him, taking care of him. But he just didn’t know.

He didn’t know if he’s not telling Mitchell the truth because he’s afraid of what the vampire would do if he knew, or because he’s afraid he would choose to do nothing at all. He didn’t know which would be worse, Mitchell angered and going out to do things he’d regret, or Mitchell being passive about it, making Anders wonder if maybe, _maybe_ this really was what he deserved for being who he was.

So Anders kept it to himself, focusing on the low murmur of nonsensical things Mitchell kept speaking to him through his own drunkenness to make him know that he’d be here beside him, all the way.

One more time his body retched, trying to vomit the truth out of him, because this was a secret he could not allow to spill.  

 

 

* * *

 

- **Playing cards** -

 

“You’re building yourself a house of cards,” was what Mike told him when he learned of the commitment Anders had fallen into with Mitchell.

And, “You’d know all about them and misplaced breaths, wouldn’t you?” Anders might have said back with a small, infuriating smirk.

“Don’t,” Mike had warned him with a testy tone and a dark look. “It’s not a game you’re going to win.”

“We’ll see,” Anders shrugged and then they had gone their separate ways again, as they always did.

Because Mike was reluctant to show that he cared all that much, and because Anders wasn’t willing to be worried over. Instead they made it an ugly, nasty game of who is right and who is wrong, where neither could win when all it did was give them more ammo to use against the other when it hurt the most.

Still, the bets were high on this one, and it was not a game Anders was planning to lose. Not even in the midst of all the destiny bullshit and not even against the God of Games.

Because he shared his bed with the ace of spades, and Anders knew that he too will fight to the bitter end to keep their house from blowing over.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On Writing poetry: The bits of a poem Mitchell was saying was from The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe. Also, 'Is breá liom tú' is Irish (and hopefully correctly written?) and means what it means.  
> On Wanking: O'Gorman was obviously Dean. Because I've been dying to read/write an Anders/Dean fic. Or maybe Anders/Dean/Fili. Or maybe just something with all of the Deans in a pile. Mm, yes, precious~
> 
> Hope you enjoyed reading.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Filming / Procrastinating / Pissing on the carpets / Eating burgers / Chilling
> 
> Thank you for all the nice comments! :) Not a lot of these left now. It's been a lot to write, hehe! 

 

* * *

 

- **Filming** -

 

For such a dysfunctional family, the Johnsons liked to hold quite a lot of family gatherings. Now, they’ve got the grill heated and piles and piles of meat waiting to be cooked and consumed. There was also beer, all sorts of clear liquids and cider for those who happened to fancy it, mostly because they made getting along easier.

Or a lot messier at times.

Mitchell watched the chaos of it all in slight awe, having not that long ago attained the status of an official member of the family and thus it being his first time attending one of them.

“What are we celebrating?” he turned to ask Ty who had voluntarily placed himself in front of the grill, apron on and a spatula in hand.

“Meat,” was the simple answer as the first pork chops hit the grill and started to sizzle.

“Meat.” Mitchell repeated as if it made any sense.

“Axl found a place that sold it cheap, got overly excited about it and called me to drive him home in my van.” Ty told him nonchalantly while reaching out for a bottle of beer that cooled instantly in his hold. It was a skill that Mitchell watched with slight envy.

“And how much meat did you end up buying?” Mitchell asked with a quizzical brow.

“All of it,” Ty shrugged, then smirking as he pointed at Mitchell with his spatula. “You need to turn that on for it to work, by the way.”

Mitchell blushed as much as his body was able, looking at the video camera someone had shoved into his hands while passing by him. He had his suspicions that that had made him responsible of recording this happy gathering to film so that they could all watch and laugh at it later.

“I- I know how it works!” He tried to defend himself, pushing the on button like Ty had instructed.

Just as he had managed to not only turn the thing on, but to successfully record a small footage of Ty cooking meat as well, a pair of hands sneaked around his waist and a chin rested on his shoulder.

“Why’re you hanging with this loser?” Playful words were spoken next to Mitchell’s ear, and not at all quietly which could be seen from Ty’s expression and the way he flipped a finger before flipping a steak.

“He’s quite good looking,” Mitchell answered, grinning all the while fumbling with the device to make sure his previous recording had been a success. “And he’s wearing an apron. How come you never wear an apron, Anders?”

“For you I might,” Anders purred, circling from behind Mitchell’s back to stand in front of him instead. After he had collected the kiss he had been after, Anders took Mitchell’s hand and started pulling him away from Ty and the grill. “Come on! There are much more interesting things to film than boring ol’ Ty. Mike’s about to get a verbal beating from Ingrid!”

And so Mitchell ended up running around with the camera in hand, filming the Johnsons and their extended family get drunk and feast on ridiculous amounts of meat. They fought and laughed and were so loud about it that the neighbours came to complain, but decided then to join them when Anders made it sound much more better an idea than calling the cops would have been.

He filmed them playing ridiculous games where they tripped over themselves and howled with laughter about it.

He filmed them getting along for once and patting and hugging each other because everything was jolly and if no one were to watch the videos being taken, then they might as well forget it ever happened.

He filmed them being a _family_ , dysfunctional, yes, but holding onto what they had.

Eventually, Mitchell sat down on a garden chair with a sigh, fishing out a smoke and inhaling it deeply after he had managed to light it. The sun had set quite some while ago, and there were no lights near where he sat. Completely surrounded by darkness and shadows, he watched his new family play in the lights.

With a deep exhale of smoke he tried to get rid of the feeling of discomfort that had grown in him during the day.

“Got one to spare?” Someone suddenly asked from beside him, making Mitchell jump a little despite his supernatural senses usually being able to alert him of any approaching presences.

After having collected his wits enough, he nodded, offering one smoke to Olaf who accepted it with a wide smile before unceremoniously slumping down to sit in the grass, joining Mitchell in watching his family.

“Quite loud, aren’t they?” the oracle mused, trying to blow out smoke rings but failing miserably at it.

Mitchell raised a brow at him, pointing out, “I think you were the loudest just now.”

Grinning without apologies or denials, Olaf motioned to the camera still in Mitchell possession. “I came to relieve you of your duties.”

“Thanks, but that’s not necessary,” Mitchell said with a smile too tiny. “I’m fine staying on this side of the camera.”

“Nonsense, you deserve to be humiliated in front of it just like the rest of us.”

Wherein laid Mitchell’s earlier discomforts, because, “It’s not like I can be captured on film, you know?” which made him feel a bit left out and out of place. Because these were memories in the making, and he had no room in them.

Apparently not ready to hear any more of his excuses, Olaf huffed and snatched the camera from Mitchell, dismissing him with a wave of his hand while saying, “No, but we can see you in Anders’ expressions.”

When Mitchell just blinked down at the bald man, Olaf shrugged a, “Just saying,” before giving him a genuine smile. “He’s very lucky to have found you, and we’re all very glad that he did.”

The words of the oracle followed Mitchell when he eventually made it back to the party without the camera in hand. It hardly took long at all for him to find Anders, the god slightly flushed from all the alcohol and unkempt from a day full of rough play with his brothers, looking utterly bored of having to watch Mike challenge people into a game of rock, paper, and scissors. But when he noticed Mitchell approaching, he straightened on his seat, dimples instantly popping out and the corners of his eyes wrinkling as he said, “ _There_ you are.”

And Mitchell risked feeling a tad arrogant when he thought that Anders looked utterly happy having him there, joining him in sitting down and enjoying the rest of the evening while Olaf was doing a fantastic job of neglecting the duty he had adopted.

Still, if Anders’ happiness was the only thing of him they managed to capture on film, then Mitchell would take that, and turn it into a feeling of belonging when they later on sat down as a family and laughed at their own stupidity.

 

* * *

 

- **Procrastinating** -

 

“You’re a bit of a miserable sight,” Mitchell commented from where he was lounging on the sofa when Anders returned home with a plastic bag full of takeaway, looking all sorts of stressed out.

“Yeah, well, I don’t exactly feel like I’m on the top of the world right now,” Anders admitted while taking off his coat and kicking away his shoes, wasting no more time when he saw Mitchell holding out his hands invitingly, sauntering over to the sofa and unceremoniously falling onto the other and into his embrace.

“A rough day?” Mitchell asked him, his fingers finding their way into Anders’ hair where he could massage his scalp.

“Not really.” Sighing against the other’s chest, Anders felt himself relax a bit already. “But it’s going to be.”

“Oh?”

“I brought spring rolls,” Anders said instead of elaborating, gesturing at the plastic bag he had placed on the living room table before he had blobbed down on Mitchell.

“That is a lot of spring rolls,” Mitchell observed, reaching out for the bag so that he could somehow get a hold of its containments while still being pinned into place by a Norse god.

“Mm.” Agreeing, Anders did nothing to help. “Might take a while to eat them.”

“You bought all of these so that you’d have a reason to procrastinate?” Having successfully fished one of the boxes with a couple of rolls packed inside, Mitchell chuckled and nudged one into Anders’ mouth before he could protest. “Wouldn’t it be less painful to just go and get whatever it is out of the way?”

Before Anders could mumble something inarticulate around his food, Mitchell pulled his face to his own, biting down on the rest of the roll still jutting out of Anders’ mouth. Sighing contently, Anders relaxed further, chewed and swallowed before saying, “But this is so much nicer. Why would I deliberately choose anything over this?”

“Maybe because we could continue this in bed once you returned,” Mitchell suggested casually as if it wasn’t the most brilliant idea that ever existed, finding it hard to fight off the grin that insisted on tugging at the corner of his lips when he continued. “While naked.”

The grin was quick to spread to Anders, the god hauling himself up Mitchell’s body a bit in order to better kiss him full on the lips. “You make an excellent point.”

“I know,” Mitchell agreed, spring rolls forgotten as he wrapped his arms around the man on top of him with all the intention of keeping them there. “Now tell me about this dreadfulness you’re about to face.”

Anders’ face fell at that, his muscles giving up completely and letting Mitchell feel the full weight of it.

“I have a meeting with _Colin_ ,” he finally mumbled against Mitchell’s throat.

“That… doesn’t sound too bad?” Mitchell tried, not entirely informed why it was that Anders hated the man so much.

“He’s a right arsehole, I can’t _stand_ him!” Wriggling around in Mitchell’s hold, Anders proceeded to throw a restricted tantrum, face still buried in the junction of the other’s neck.

Knowing now was a bad time to laugh, Mitchell only held Anders tighter so that he wouldn’t accidentally flail himself onto the floor, wondering out loud, “Should I come with you?” and making Anders jerk his head up, eyes wide at the suggestion.

“Yes,” he said without a moment’s pause. “Yes, you should.”

“To be your sidekick?” Mitchell grinned.

“Exactly.” Nodding, Anders reached out for more spring rolls, looking thoughtful as he went through the pros and cons of having Mitchell come with him. “I’d be good to have you there if things go wrong.”

“If things go wro-“ Mitchell began to ask, his eyes narrowing dangerously, but Anders would have none of that and proceeded to stuff the roll into the vampire’s mouth before he had the opportunity to get overly protective.

“You can just wait for me in the lobby or something, yeah.” His dismissing attitude got him a disapproving glare, but in the end Mitchell let out a sound which Anders interpreted as an agreement.

“It’d be reassuring,” he went on, voice dropping in volume and head going to rest against the other’s chest again.

Aside from Mitchell’s chews and swallows, they stayed silent for a while, Anders feeling like his head only got filled with more unpleasant thoughts as time passed by. Finally losing his patience, he nudged Mitchell with his chin and asked, “What are you thinking about?”

“If it should be fast and messy or long and painful.” Mitchell answered absentmindedly, his hand going to stroke Anders’ hair.

“Eh?” Anders asked with reservation.

“Colin’s death if he hurts you,” the other elaborated, nonchalant.

Placing his arms flat on Mitchell’s chest, Anders raised himself to lean on his elbows, looking down at Mitchell with a quirked brow. “Is _that_ why you have a boner?”

“ _What_?” Mitchell asked a bit alarmed, feeling Anders press his thigh between his legs to make a point and relaxing once he had caught up with reality and all made sense again. “No, _that_ I got from thinking how you’d throw me to bed and ravish me as a thank you.”

“How _medieval_ of you,” Anders snorted. “But,” he grinned and pressed his thigh a bit harder against the bulge forming between Mitchell’s legs, “Maybe I ought to ravish you right here.”

“Yeah?” Mitchell asked grinning boyishly, spreading his legs out more and falling down on the cushions he was leaning against in his attempt to get more under Anders than he already was.

“Mm, you’re so willing,” Anders complimented Mitchell with a smile against his lips before going for a full kiss, teasing the other with little licks and nibbles when Mitchell opened his mouth with a moan as an obvious invite for him to go in deeper. “And so spread out already. Whatever shall I do with you?”

“What you will.” Mitchell spoke against his lips while his mind had apparently been long lost into the wildness of his imagination where the thoughts of getting fucked hard on the couch right then made him pant hard and hard in his pants.

“I would have you stripped bare, opened wide and fucked raw,” Anders whispered against his ear while his hands searched for Mitchell’s wrists so that he could bind his hands above his head. ”Would you like that, John?”

When Mitchell only moaned, Anders bit down hard on the flesh just below the other’s ear. “Answer the question, _John_.”

“Mmhm-nngh,” Mitchell managed to voice while desperately rolling his hips against Anders’ thigh.

“Could you repeat to what you just agreed to?”

“Y-you would have me completely naked and-“

“ _Would_ ,” Anders agreed suddenly with a wicked grin, halting any and every movement of pleasure occurring between them, “If I wasn’t in _such_ a _hurry_ to go get stuff done out of the way.”

With that, he rolled off Mitchell, snatching the bag of spring rolls from the living room table before taking them to the kitchen and placing them in the fridge.

“Anders?” Mitchell asked a bit shakily from the sofa he was still lying on.

“Come, come now. Time’s a wasting!” Anders hollered cheerily while going to put his jacket and shoes on, jostling his keys in hand when Mitchell was moving too slow. “I’ll be waiting for you in the car if you need a moment.”

“Anders!!” Mitchell yelled desperately after him, making the god snigger all the way to the car.

 

* * *

 

- **Pissing on the carpets** -

 

Even before he had barely even stepped into the lobby, Mitchell could already tell Anders was fuming. Apparently whatever business he had been doing with Colin had not gone well. It made Mitchell muse if he’d perhaps be taken in Anders’ car after being dragged to it and thrown at the backseat while Anders quickly and roughly worked him open, fucking him as hard as he’d had a hard day.

Perhaps, he thought, he should have been prepared enough to have stretched himself open in order to hasten the procedure.

“What are you looking so dopey for?” Anders glared at him upon spotting him. “Someone might molest you.”

“Just thinking…” Mitchell shrugged, unable to help the smile still on his face.

“Well stop it, we’re done here.” Snapping at him, Anders seemed to be more in the mood of gulping down alcohol than he was for a furious rut. Which, while a bit disappointing, Mitchell wasn’t exactly opposed to.

Thinking not much of Anders’ rage, the vampire let his thoughts drift to all the things he could drink, trying to decide between good ol’ Guinness and a fine selection of whiskeys. Or maybe he’d have enough of everything to not remember it in the morning and have a damn good time while he was at it.

When he was just about to exit the building, however, he had to halt his steps absurdly upon hearing the unmistakable sound of Anders’ fly being opened. Afraid to see what was going on behind him, Mitchell turned around slowly, his hiss of, “What the _hell_ do you think you’re doing!?” coming out a bit more high pitched than he had intended it to.

Anders didn’t even look at him when he let out a satisfied sigh and rocked on his heels whilst pissing on an innocent carpet decorating the lobby.

“Expressing my artistic opinion,” he said, nudging his head in the general direction of another rug. “C’mon. I’ve only got so much ammo in my bladder right now. You do that one.”

“What- I, _no_! Just. No.”

“Aw, you’ve no poetry in you, Cassius,” Anders pouted, his foul mood apparently disappearing along with his bodily fluids. “Did I drag you here as a sidekick for nothing?”

Not knowing if he should be appalled or extremely amused by Anders’ antics, Mitchell finally shrugged, thinking this was hardly amongst the worst things he had been ordered to do during his career as a sidekick, while opening his fly and wearing a matching grin to that of Anders’.

It was a fucking hideous carpet anyway.

 

* * *

 

- **Eating burgers** -

 

There was this new pub that had been open not a week and Mitchell was itching to go and check it out because the guys at work spoke of the hamburgers it served as if they were something divine. Anders had only snorted when he had expressed his interest to go, looking at Mitchell like, really, _me_ eating burgers in a shady pub with my suit on, forget it.

So Mitchell had went on ahead and invited Axl to go with him instead, because Anders’ little brother was a poor student who would never say no to a free meal and was young and enthusiastic enough to appreciate a big, juicy burger any day.

Anders, upon hearing of their arrangement, invited himself to go with them, because no brother of his was going to get quality time alone with Mitchell, and maybe because he had also heard that the pub was _Irish_ and to Mitchell it was a piece of home no matter how small. _Maybe_.

That’s how the three of them had ended up in the pub, sitting side by side by the window while stuffing themselves with burgers.

“These are heavenly,” Mitchell moaned around his meal, Axl nodding in agreement while finishing his own.

“Look at the two of you getting fat together, how sweet,” Anders commented, at least _trying_ to eat his burger with a bit more class and ordering only another glass of whiskey while the other two wanted more fat and meat in their system.

“Shut up, chubby,” sniggered Mitchell while pinching Anders’ rump playfully, only to be kicked in the shin for his efforts.

“Being a skinny bitch was so last season, did the guy who sold you those jeans fail to tell you that?” the blond bit out in retaliation, making Axl wonder whether the situation was an amusing one or if he should start playing the referee anytime soon.

“You say that with such disdain even though you kept giving appreciative looks to our skinny waitress.” As if having been summoned by the mention of her, their waitress came to ask if they had enjoyed their meal so far and if she could perhaps bring them something more to drink. They all agreed a pint of beer would do them good and looked long after her, Anders sighing out a, “She _does_ have a nice pair of tits, though.”

Axl felt his spine straighten in agitation, fearing for his brother’s only working relationship coming to an end right in front of him. But then Mitchell only shrugged, turning to look out of the window as he said, “I prefer them small enough to fit in my hand.”

“Says the guy with large hands,” Anders pointed out, perking up when two attractive ladies walked past the pub’s window. “Now _there’s_ a pair I’d invite into my bed!”

“Only _you’d_ go after the obviously easy and uninteresting prey.” Smirking, Mitchell pointed with his half empty pint at a brunet having a walk with her dog. “I’d have fun with _her_ all night.”

“What? With the bitch or the dog?” Anders asked, almost making Mitchell choke on his drink. “No, but you seriously prefer those birthing hips to well-formed breasts? Is it because you want to be a _daddy_?” he continued while running his foot up the other’s ankle, smirking when he said, “Daddy long legs.”

While Mitchell laughed, Axl stared in disbelief at the two, whishing he could assure the woman glaring at them from a nearby table that he was in no way associated with these chauvinistic pigs. Upon receiving an equally nasty glare as his companions had already gotten and thus it apparently being too late for him to sneak off the scene with any shreds of dignity left, Axl tried another desperate tactic.

“Um,” he said to try and gain their attention, feeling even more nervous when both of them turned to look at him.

“W-what about _him_?” Pointing at a reasonably well-groomed guy walking down the street and trying to get his companions to objectify him as well, Axl kept the looking at the judging woman from the corner of his eye, expecting her to give up on her anger upon realising that while Anders and Mitchell were a pair of assholes, they weren’t too picky on who got to taste the full effect of it.

His plans did not go quite as planned, though, when Anders gave him the queerest look and asked, “Are you _gay_ or something?”

“What? N-no!” Axl stuttered, growing red from the embarrassment. “I- I just-“

“You just _what_?” Anders attempted to pry out of him, narrowing his eyes dangerously.

“I just thought that you’d-“

“That just because _this arse_ happened to catch my attention,” he said while jerking his thumb at Mitchell, “I’m suddenly interested in all the rears of the male population?”

“No, I-“

“I know you were raised by Mike, but _honestly_ , I expect a bit more open-mindedness from you, Axl.”

Now the woman was glaring solely at Axl, and like a child having just gotten a scolding from his big brother, Axl said a small ‘ _sorry’_ before quietly stuffing whatever crumbs of his burger there was left into his mouth, after which he left the pub with his shoulders slumped and ears flattened.

Oh well, at least he had gotten a free meal.

 

* * *

 

- **Chilling** -

 

There was this local bar not far from their apartment, a cosy little place where Anders and Mitchell often ended up in because they were lazy and it was convenient. It had a population of regulars; bearded, beer bellied old men with the tendency to buy the latest technology even though all they knew what to do with it was to brag about it.

They had looked at them with all the prejudice of old-man values and protectiveness of some who saw their territory being invaded the first time Anders and Mitchell went there. They had looked even less pleased when it became apparent the two of them could be very handsy with each other, whether they were drunk or not.

But when they had tried to approach Anders to scare him away from _their_ bar, they had only found out just how persuasive the blond could be when he smiled and said, “ _I’m not going anywhere. You better get used to it_.”

And boy had they felt silly under the light of such unarguable logic tailored into such polite sentences, making them apologize and say, “Of course you’re not. Next Tuesday is bar quiz night, hope to see you there!”

And when they had tried the same on Mitchell, ambushing him at the bar counter while he was waiting for his pint of Guinness, they had gotten as far as opening their mouths before some animal instinct got the best of them, making their tail bones twitch in submission when the Paddy gave them an easy smile too full of teeth and cheerily said, “Let’s get along, eh?” to which they dared to do nothing but agree.

Nowadays they all got along splendidly well, their laughing loud and no one throwing nasty glares even if Anders’ tongue found its way into Mitchell’s mouth right in front of everyone. Anders couldn’t give a rat’s ass about winning the bar quiz, and Mitchell was as lost with the latest technology as anyone else, and that if anything made them pretty swell guys even in their reserved old-man circles.

They became so familiar, in fact, that they didn’t find it awkward at all to comment on and speak about Anders and Mitchell’s relationship, clapping loudly and cheering them on if a kiss got too heated and asking what the matter was if they were having a bit of a tiff.

And that was ultimately what made things go all wrong.

Because they were all friends now, a bunch of raunchy men getting drunk together, and there was no shred of decency in that or any boundaries to upkeep, so they thought it was all right to ask in a jolly way, “So Anders is the woman in your relationship?” when they spied him giving a nasty look at the table he was sitting at and had a moment ago rested his hand on only to find the surface of it sticky.

“Aye, I think so,” one of them agreed, adding a big burb to his speech. “He’s always holding out on poor Mitchell, too.”

“Uh, guys, don’t-“ Mitchell tried to play the diplomat, holding his hands up as if instructing them how to surrender.

It was too late for that, however, as it seemed like Anders was chilling the whole bar with his gaze alone, letting it rake over the bar’s every occupant and freezing them in place with it.

“Why would there be a woman in a relationship that is between two men?” he asked with a calm voice and a pleasant enough smile, addressing the man who had laid the claim. No one seemed eager to be in his shoes.

“It’s just that you’re kind of a neat-freak sometimes and it’s amusing. Look, it was only a joke-“

“So I’m a neat-freak because I fail to find the charm in such a manly activity as rolling around in my own filth?” he spat out, all pleasant pretences gone, clearly annoyed now. Acting on Mitchell’s cue the man held his hands up, though it did little to calm Anders’ mood.

“And do you insist on labelling one of us as the _woman_ because it’s been years since your last relationship ended when your wife found her self-respect underneath all the slime and shit you leave behind and divorced your sorry arse, taking your estranged daughters with her, the loneliness of an empty house eventually driving you here in this sausage-fest of a dump where you can all drown in your bitterness while blaming others for your own mistakes?”

The man looked like he wanted either to protest that not all what Anders was saying was true or to be angry that whatever parts had been true were being said out loud. But Anders wasn’t quite done yet, not even when Mitchell came over to him, saying, “You’re being a bit cruel, stop it.”

Pushing Mitchell from out of the way so that he would not break eye contact with his current target, Anders continued. “No, no, they asked so I’ll tell them since obviously it’s been such a long time since any of these pitiful creatures have gotten laid that they must’ve forgotten something obvious. When it’s just two guys, there are no women involved! And I’ll tell you why-”

“We’re sorry!” More than just the one man yelled, hands already pressed to their ears before Anders could throw his choice of verbal abuse at them full blast.

“Instead of there being just one penis, there are two,” Anders began, receiving distressed groans as a response. “Two penises, gentlemen, _two_! And when you rub them together, it’s all good. When you get a mouthful of one, it’s even better. When you get anal, it’s the best.”

The latter mention made Mitchell give Anders a rather sour look, one which the god ignored.

“And since we have yet to grow a pair of impressive man-breasts such as many of you have managed to do over the years, it’s all hard muscle, hairy chests and non-existent curves. Now then, _please_ tell me which one of us is _the_ _woman_?”

“Neither!” They yelled with voices full of apologies and pleas for Anders to stop, which he did with a satisfied nod, taking a hold of Mitchell’s arm as he started to manhandle him out of the bar.

“You can work out your frustrations by fucking me, if you like,” Mitchell told him hopefully while obediently following where he was being led to.

“Forget it. I want them to be fucked out of me if anything,” Anders huffed, knowing he could argue his point of view better despite the low, disagreeing mutter which left Mitchell’s throat.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> So I really hope you liked them so far. Please feel free to comment. I'd like to hear which were your favourite and least favourite! :D


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